Voltron's ABCs
by ZutarianNaiad
Summary: Randomly chosen word prompts take the Voltron Force, friends, and enemies for a ride. Laughs! Extremely short periods of suspence! Jibes at almost any character! All in 500ish word shorts! Come on - what have you got to lose?
1. Acre

Acre

* * *

"…So what are we supposed to do with it?" Lance asked, swinging his legs over the lip of the crater.

"That was going to be a school… and an orphanage… and a playground… and a day-care for the children while their parents were rebuilding… and the children's flower memorial garden…" Allura mumbled slowly as she surveyed the damage.

"Yeah… we even designed a flower clock," Pidge added. "Now look—the entire section is one big crater, Lance!"

"Hey!" Lance snapped. "Can I help it that Lotor got behind me? If it were any of your lions you would have burned up in the atmosphere. All right, so we lost an acre of land to the crater, but you could've lost me!"

"But the point was that you _were_ in Red Lion. It could take the heat—maybe even thrive in it. You should have maneuvered," Keith scolded, folding his arms.

"I _did_ maneuver. Instead of crashing on its nose I made Red Lion crash on its side. Hence the acre-wide crater instead of the somewhat lion shaped heap of red scrap metal."

"That flower clock was going to really be something…" Hunk grumbled.

"Hey! I came back for the main battle. That's something! Reentry and exit again in ten minutes!

"Lotor cornered the princess twice while you were gone!" Pidge said, throwing a rock into the crater, where it made pitiful progress before it stopped.

"How is that my fault? I'm not the official guard or anything!" Lance said, standing up. "And how does he corner anybody in space?"

"There _was_ an armada," Princess Allura sniffed. "But about the acre of land—?"

"Isn't there anywhere else? It's not like there's a shortage of land on this planet. It's not some kind of city planet with no undeveloped land left," Lance said.

"But this land was _perfect_," Hunk said. "It was just were we needed it. Central location, great shelter, fruit trees to pick lunch off of, underground spring, and some _really_ soft grass for the kids to nap on." Hunk chucked a rock far past where Pidge's had stopped. It started a miniscule landslide of imperfect glass in the bowl of the crater.

"Well, at least he didn't crash here when there was something other than land," said Pidge in a depressed tone.

"That's right," Allura agreed, turning away. "I guess all that remains is figuring out what to do with the site…"

"How about we have Lance fill it in so we can still use the site?" Pidge asked brightly, turning around.

"_**What?**_" Lance asked. "Hunk's lion is the earth one—get him to fill it in."

"I'm not the one who made the crater!" Hunk pointed out.

"Boys—" Allura said, already attempting to head off the coming argument.

"Stop it," Keith ordered. "There's no sense in sitting around here staring at it. Lance will just have to spend the rest of the afternoon searching for another acre of land, all right?"

A mock salute answered Keith.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500 words.

Author's Note: The story gets much better as you go along, I promise. Words randomly chosen out of the dictionary that you have to look forward to include **hibachi**, **marshmallow**, and **votive**; so you have a lot to look forward to.


	2. Burlesque

Burlesque (1 ) Broadly comic satire (2) type of vaudeville (3) imitate comically

* * *

Allura cast a worried glance at the door of the pilot's lounge.

"Quit looking, Princess—it'll be fine," Keith said as he sat down next to her.

"But Nanny is sure to disapprove," Allura said, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. "She'll notice in the morning that I stayed up late."

"You bet I will!" came Pidge's voice in a shrill, crude imitation of Nanny's. "Oh, 'ow da'e you sta' up _late_! With _boys_! Oh, my precious nerves!"

Allura's hands flew to her mouth. After a tense, mostly silent moment of struggle she burst out laughing.

"Oh, princess! Laughter! You 'ave no sympathy for my nerves!" Pidge scolded in his mock-Nanny voice. Keith smiled and Allura appeared unable to breathe. Pidge stopped when she started coughing, still laughing.

"Eh, Princess?" Pidge asked in his own voice. "You okay?"

"I—I can't—" Allura lost control again, half gasping in failed attempts to stop the other half of laughing. "I sh-shouldn't b-be—" She fell apart giggling again when Hunk came from behind the sheet tacked up over the other door of the lounge.

"That's right, Princess," he said. Hunk twitched a false gray mustache and wore an ill-fitting suit coat. "You should listen to Nanny. **_I_** always do. And no more lions—and no more fun. Go and study!" Allura doubled over, snorting, and laughing harder.

"Don't you talk like that to _me_!" Pidge ordered. "I'm the real power and authority in this planet! Ooh, I'd put Voltron over my knee for all the danger that robot has put the princess in!"

"Now about Voltron, princess—you are not to pilot your lion ever again. Even though every time I've said that before you and the Voltron Force saved my skin, I'm sure it'll work this time. What is the meaning of all this laughter?" Hunk scolded in a creaky imitation of Coran's.

"That's right!" Pidge-Nanny agreed, pulling the cap lower on his brow. "You'll stay here, far away from that no-account Prince Lotor!"

The sheet covering the doorway twitched and Hunk melodramatically gasped. "_Prince Lotor_!"

Allura went still as Lance entered, wearing his blue piloting helmet with tin-foil blades on the sides and a white handkerchief hanging down as some imitation of white hair.

"That is true—it is I, Prince Lotor!" Lance rasped. Allura collapsed on the couch, a one woman riot of laughter.

"I can see you are overcome, my dear, with love for me!" He walked forward, roughly shoving Hunk and Pidge out of the way. He kneeled before Allura when she—with Keith's help—righted herself. "And here I was about to actually try something different! Maybe a call, or some flowers, or something remotely romantic! But why bother? It's not like doing the exact same thing over and over again has ever done me any harm before! While I'm at it, I brought a few robeasts for no apparent reason! There's no way they could be defeated! Listen to me monologue, my precious! I always knew never listening to a single word you people say was the right course!"

* * *

Word count minus word and definition and notes: 514

A/N: It gets better. Updating will be done on whims because the thing is almost entirely written.


	3. Composite

Composite – formed of distinct parts.

* * *

Allura liked Keith. She was really _really _fond of him. He was so strong, and such a good leader, and so smart, and just so… _Keith_. He was always working so hard to make sure everyone was getting better, always teaching them all. Allura really was fond of him. It's just that. . . sometimes it got in the way. He just didn't turn of Commander Keith for Keith Keith.

Like at one particular state dinner... Voltron had been on display in front of the castle, Romelle had brought some bottles from Pollux and convinced Nanny to let Allura have a few glasses of the "elixir," starlight pooled on the balcony, aided by a romantic full moon. And there was Keith, so very snappy looking in a red dress uniform. Romelle had convinced Allura to wear a white dress instead of pink with the single comment "Pink clashes with red." She'd made a joke about Allura blushing near Keith, but that had _not_ factored in the decision.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as she advanced onto the balcony where Keith was standing alone.

"Voltron," he said in what was nearly a happy sigh. Allura offered him a flute of Pollux Elixir.

"Really?" she asked, sounding interested.

"Yes. It's just so incredible how Voltron is such a perfect composite. Every little piece works so well together or apart, everything fits, everything is perfect. Even after the beatings that the lions get, they always come together and fit perfectly for the one."

"Yes," Allura said in the same tone of the first. "A perfect composite; two—or more—being one, perfectly, together…" She almost grumbled the "or more" part.

"And it's amazing how the lions work—each is so different, so specialized. We can't manage that! Each member of the team is always out of sync with everyone else, or messing up, or getting on someone's nerves. But not Voltron—never Voltron. He doesn't get it wrong like people!"

Allura drummed her fingers delicately on the balcony railing. "Well, not everybody is always so out of sync with everybody else," she said, taking a dainty sip from her own flute. She really must ask Romelle what this "elixir" was.

"Not like Voltron," Keith said confidently. "He doesn't get it wrong, ever. Even when pilots go bad, when it comes to him it always works out. The perfect composite, where everything always clicks…"

"You're right," Allura agreed, draining the last of the elixir from her flute. "People don't get it right. People miss things. Obvious things… and small, subtle, little things… They just get lost. But you certainly never get that with a giant composite robot." If Keith had been paying attention he may have detected a tart edge to her words—not quite bitter, but sort of left that taste in one's mouth.

"You sure don't," Keith agreed amiably and drained his flute. "Hm. Wonder what's in this wine Romelle brought."

"Elixir," Allura corrected, looking moodily at her empty flute.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: To clear up a few universe issues; one—Sven, Prince Lotor, and King Zarkon are all alive. Two—Allura's about seventeen, eighteenish. Three—the levels of OoCness is subject to change. Please enjoy.


	4. Damask

Damask – A fabric with a figured weave; deep pink

* * *

"What do you think?" Allura asked, giving an experimental twirl. "It's not really something I'd wear on a normal day—"

"You don't wear an evening gown on a normal day," Romelle answered as she leaned back on one of the boutique's fainting couches. "Your Princess Dress is enough of a stretch as it is."

"I thought you liked that dress!" Allura said mid-twist. Romelle guessed her cousin was trying to see the view from behind.

"No—it works for you," Romelle corrected. "It's just that three shades of pink and tent skirts aren't the kind of thing I could pull off on a daily basis."

"Ignoring the fact that we look almost exactly alike," Allura said. "And what about that flowing thing you wear all the time?"

"That 'flowing thing' is comfortable, able to hide a veritable arsenal, and perfect of the nice hot climate where the imperial palace is," Romelle said, lifting her chin. "Don't these boutiques offer complimentary drinks?" A nameless, pretty clerk came by with two flutes of what was allegedly champagne on a small mirrored tray. Romelle watched after the clerk until she was certain all prying eyes and ear were gone. "They'd better be serving alcohol. No way anyone would buy a dress like that if she weren't drinking."

"Romelle!" Allura said, turning.

"Well, come on Allura! You brought me here for my opinion. Who makes an evening gown out of damask? It's not the right fabric for any evening gown style. It's for _linens_, Allura. Silk, satin, and whatever the Ratutians export—that's what evening gowns are made from. But damask? Curtains, sheets, and upholstery. Are you going to have that?" Allura shook her head at the champagne, which had greatly slowed its bubbling.

"But it fits right, and the color—"

"The color is bad," Romelle said, having drained the flute in one gulp. "Gray pink? Let me see the little gilded 'contents' card… Here it is: _Damask Rose_. I may die laughing." Allura turned again, her eyes shining with something like effort to be as critical as Romelle was. "As for fit… Well, the dresses I normally wear are cotton. Those 'flowing things' are loose by style, and wonderfully comfortable. But no designer can make a damask dress eveningwear."

"Well, fine. How about I get it for a day dress?" Allura nearly snapped—for any other woman it would have been a proper snap, but Allura's voice lacked any snappish quality.

"I know you can't be serious," Romelle replied calmly. "An open back, star sapphires along the neckline—which is too high for an evening dress as it is—and a short train? I swear, there's simply no excuse for this sort of thing. And this boutique was supposed to be reputable." Allura mutely retreated to the changing room. Romelle sighed.

"I'm sorry, Allura," she conceded, stepping into the field of the three mirrors. "How about we look at some other things? A blue gown, or a nice black cocktail dress?"

* * *

Words count minus notes: 500

A/N: Not much of a punchline on this one, but it does begin Romelle's direct involvement (yay for her).


	5. Eventuality

Eventuality

* * *

"Yikes, I'm leaving already!" Lance yelled at the closing door to the pilots' lounge. "No good reason you have to do it in there, though."

"What's going on?" Keith asked as he rounded the corner. "You insult Nanny or something?"

"No," Lance answered defensively. "I was just in there watching some vids, then hurricane Nanny herded me out. Said the Princess had some important men to look over."

"What?" asked Keith, taken aback.

"Yeah," Lance grumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Came in with some Who's-Who type picture books and things."

"Do you know what for?" Keith asked.

Lance shrugged. "You know how she's been getting on Princess lately. Since she turned seventeen it's been all 'Marriage is an honorable institution' this and 'His Royal Highness' that. Probably in there showing Allura her 'options.'"

Keith's jaw dropped in a rather un-leaderlike fashion. He recovered quickly. "Did you get a good look at what Nanny was showing her?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Nope," Lance answered, walking off. "But you know, Commander—" he called back, "her getting married _is_ a definite eventuality. Later, Keith."

Keith watched Lance go, then looked awkwardly down at his book. Odds were that Nanny wasn't about to let anyone into the pilots' lounge… especially none of the boys, not when she was… shopping for a husband. Keith shuddered involuntarily at the idea.

"What'cha doin', Keith?" Pidge asked from behind him. Keith jumped—a very small, almost imperceptible jump—and turned.

"Well, I was going to the pilots' lounge to read, but Nanny's in there with Princess Allura, and I'm not sure if going in would be such a great idea."

"What?" Pidge scoffed in a high-pitched tone. He walked right into the lounge. Keith heard Nanny's personal repertoire of generic rebukes, then Allura's voice sweetly ask something. The doors slid shut. Keith just stood there.

"Well… she's going to _have_ to get married, _eventually_…" he said to himself. "But seventeen? I'd only had… three girlfriends at the academy by then…"

A few moments later Pidge exited with a smile on his face.

"What did she say?" Keith blurted out.

"Oh, nothing much. She showed me a few guys pictures and told me some really interesting things. She wanted my opinions on some of them. Nanny kicked me out when we started laughing."

"Laughing?" Keith asked acidly.

"…Um… yep. I have to go help Hunk with something, Keith. Bye."

Keith stared at the lounge door, built his resolve and marched in. "Princess—" he said in a practiced tone of formality and respect.

"There you are Keith! I need your opinion on something important," she said brightly, arranging about five pictures. Keith couldn't bear to look.

"Look, Allura—"

"Hold on. I need to write a paper on one of the great kings of Arus. It's for a graduation grade, so I need to be very careful in choosing."

Keith looked down at the papers. Five serious men in crowns looked back.

"Graduation paper…" he mumbled, and laughed hysterically. "Definite eventuality, those!" He laughed again, turned around, and walked out of the room.

"Well, that was very strange," Allura commented when he was gone.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 530


	6. Full

Full—unable to be added too; at capacity

WARNING: Terry Pratchett influenced phonetic spelling of accents ahead.

* * *

"Prince Lotor, the newest slave ships have come in," Witch Haggar rasped behind him.

"What's it to me, Witch?" Lotor asked, in spite of the fact that he had nothing planned for the afternoon other than scowling on the balcony.

"Why, the ships are from the recently conquered planet Loki," Haggar answered.

"And?" Lotor crossed his arms, which he supposed was intimidating.

"Have you not seen the slaves? One ship entirely full of women," she said.

"…What of it?"

"Why, they all fit your profile, your Highness," she laughed.

"Speak what you mean, Witch!" Lotor growled.

"Oh, I've brought a few samples," Haggar cackled.

"Vhat haff yew done viff mey swort?" a statuesque woman asked. Lotor's first impression was that her helmet was remarkably like his. "Pits of perdition, vho are yew?" His second impression was that with the helmet she was easily a head taller than he.

"Geyrta—ought yew tew speak soah?" The second gave a more favorable impression—her subservient stance, appealing figure in the molded breastplate, but most of all the hair: long, long blonde hair. It wasn't golden, or wheat colored, or even flaxen—a washed out, icy blonde, but blonde nonetheless.

"Avay viff yewer missgiwinks!" the helmeted Geyrta ordered. Lotor fixed her in a hard look—there was certainly blonde hair on that one, but hardly a proper shade at all. The same washed out tone, but with an undercurrent of _brown_ all throughout! And the muscles—no proper curves at all!

"Vehr ahe ve?" the third asked. Her hair was so light—almost white, like his—but with a regal tone of silver that didn't seem to fit her obvious youth. She was slight and short, but with the same strong frame that the others possessed.

"Prince Lotor—This is Helgana, daughter of Warchief Brehnan—practically a princess where she's from!—her lady in waiting, Alphada, and her guard Lady Geyrta. Excellent additions to your harem, don't you think?" Haggar cackled.

"My harem is full," Lotor answered quickly. He really didn't like the way that giant Geyrta was looking at him… how one hand clasped into a white, stonelike fist and the other rested ready for any shaft or hilted weapon.

"Full, Prince Lotor? Only yesterday you were complaining of the transitory nature of harem girls!"

Alphada's eyes narrowed, her hand shifting closer to the edge of her breastplate. Lotor looked closer, and noted that the form was not symmetrical—the hip edge near her hand was wider, and would be well suited to disguise a small knife. If the knife were made of the same metal as the breastplate, it would be difficult to detect if a searcher did not know exactly what he was looking for.

"Be gone," he ordered. Five drones skulked out of the shadows to escort the Lokian women away. Lotor turned back to Haggar. "By 'my profile,' witch, I assume you mean my _tastes_. I assure you that my tastes do not include muscle-bound female warriors, protective, conniving vixens with a talent for hiding weapons, and mere _children_." With a wave he dismissed Haggar and turned back to the balcony's edge, scowling in earnest, feeling somewhat small.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 530.

Translation of the dialect: "What have you done with my sword?" "Pits of perdition, who are you?" "Geyrta, ought you to speak so?" "Away with your misgivings!" "Where are we?"

A/N: Could I resist picking on Lotor? No. No, I could not.


	7. Glaring

Glaring – adj., flagrant

**WARNING**: Terry Pratchett influenced phonetic spelling of accents to come. Vs for natural Ws, Js for natural Ys, Ws for natural Vs.

* * *

"It's obwious, really," Sven commented.

"Oh, I wouldn't say obvious, dearest," Romelle replied. "More… glaring. That's the right word."

Sven chuckled. "Oh? And vhat leads you to that distinction?" Sven poured them both another glass lemonade.

"The look," Romelle answered, motioning to the Voltron force as they played a game something like a cross between horseshoes and croquet. "The look is important, especially in a young, emotional girl like Allura." Allura laughed loudly at a brief altercation between Pidge and Lance regarding the rules of the game.

"Fine then—vhat's the significance of her look right now? I don't happen to see anything I'd call 'glaring,'" Sven said.

"Well… see the way she looks at Keith? Admiration and respect always, in conversation or a fight. Then the eyes soften and it's affection. Glaring affection, and that's in the look. The rest really comes from body language. In this setting, see how easily she smiles? Bigger smile for Keith. And there, she hesitates—always listening to whatever he has to say, hanging on his words. So much value, almost worship. And there, that pink tint to her cheeks that has very little to do with the heat. _That's_ glaring." Romelle nodded slightly, pleased with her assessment.

"Vell, they don't seem to see it," Sven said.

"That's because their own signals are glaring. See how Pidge looks at her? Too young and naïve to see _her_ look. But the chivalrous deference and protectiveness? He sees it in terms of a fairy tale—she's the princess, he's the deserving youth, and has just as much of a chance for a crush as the rest. That's fairly glaring."

Sven looked rather amused. "And Hunk? What signals is he sending?"

"Hunk?" Romelle asked. "He really sees her much for what she is, if he misses certain signals of hers having to do with the heart. If he had a chance, which he doesn't know about, he'd go for it. He just hasn't found an opening."

"And Lance? Anything 'glaring' Lance giwes off?" Sven asked, obviously amused.

"Glaring is his middle name. He's a boy, she's a girl, and as far as he's concerned there's no reason he doesn't have just as good a shot with her as Keith. A better chance, even, as far as he's concerned—Keith is the commanding officer and has stop and think about rules. But then Lance is a warrior on equal footing with her. He's willing to go for what he wants. What isn't glaring is that he doesn't want it enough to take a risk and go after her."

"So the princess is obwiously—glaringly, my love—infatuated with Keith. Pidge, Hunk, and Lance all care for her, glaringly no less, but not enough to try anything without her positive confirmation. So does Keith give any glaring signals?"

"Him? Most glaring of them all! His glaring signal is how _oblivious_ he is. _He_ doesn't even realize he loves her, much less how she feels for him." Romelle laughed.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: And why does Sven's accent break for the word love? Because he loves his wife, and no overblown accent will get in the way of _my_ Sven/Romelle married!fluff.


	8. Hibachi

Hibachi – n., charcoal burning cooking grill. Other dictionary – a portable barbecue of Japanese design, with a base for the fire with vents under it and one or more adjustable cooking racks

A/N: Wow. Japanese word in a three dollar dictionary. According to Wikipedia, hibachi is a room heater. But a hibachi grill it shall be.

* * *

Hunk swallowed a mouthful of beef. "It sure is nice to get out once in a while," he said contentedly.

"Whatever happened to Sven and Romelle?" Allura asked, helping herself to more fried rice.

"She and Sven went for a walk on the beach," Prince Bandor said.

"I didn't know you could cook, Keith," Allura said, looking over at their commander. He looked up from the fresh-caught shrimp he was seasoning.

"'Course he can cook," Lance said dismissively. "Keith can do _anything_."

"Sunburn getting to your head?" Keith joked. Allura wasn't sure if Lance got redder at the comment—it was hard to tell in the firelight. She drew her legs up closer to herself. The breeze coming off the ocean was getting brisk—and she wanted to leave a bit of room for Keith to sit next to her.

"Cold, Princess?" Hunk asked helpfully—almost hopefully—on her left.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just trying to get comfortable," she answered dismissively.

"You know," Pidge said, stretching out his short legs and leaning back. "Usually when we're on vacation around a camp fire, we tell ghost stories."

"Do you know any good ones, Keith?" Allura asked.

"Keith always makes them up as he goes along," Lance stated.

"I've got a good one—I actually heard it from the guy I bought this grill from, back at Demeter Spaceport." Allura settled comfortably and watched Keith's face as he told the story. "The thing was, he told me it was a Haunted Hibachi."

"Making it up," Lance said, shaking his sunburned head.

"Shush!" sounded in four different tones.

"Anyway, it's pretty hard to get an old-fashioned hibachi grill anymore, especially in space," Keith continued. "It had been a family possession, but the man said he just couldn't keep it anymore. He told me that it last belonged to his Great Uncle, who was the cook on a small research vessel. He got special permission to use the coal-burning hibachi on the ship. Well, one night in orbit over a dwarf star, the fire acted weird. He was just cooking like normal, but it kept flaring up and consuming dinner. The crew weren't even coming up to dinner—as he'd soon find out, because the dwarf star was _growing_. The fire in the grill was calling out to the fire of the star—but they didn't find that until too late. The pilot saw what was happening just fast enough to drop the blast doors and save the ship when an erratic flare took out the research deck, killing the crew instantly. But the Hibachi Man didn't know the flare was coming, and couldn't save himself from his own fire…

"But he didn't die," Keith said in a chilly tone. "The fire needed to live, and it lived in him. The fire kept the Hibachi Man alive and in terrible pain while it used him to get back to civilization in a dead ship. At home port they put the fires out and gave the hibachi to his family." Keith sighed. "_I _don't believe ghost stories, so I bought it. But the old man I bought it from told me to keep it away from other fires, because it still calls out—"

The campfire flared six feet in the air, a bright avenging red. Allura gave a throat-ripping scream that trumped the yells everyone else gave. The flare, as flares do, fell quickly and made the screams seem melodramatic—but not as much as three distinct strains of laughter. Keith's laugh—somehow authoritative in _laughter_ of all things, Sven's accented guffaw, and Romelle's breathless, gasping, unrestrained giggling.

"_**ROMELLE!**_" Allura shrieked rather gracelessly. The only thing keeping Romelle upright was her husband's grip around her waist, and that was slipping.

"Y-y-you-your **faces**!" she managed. "You couldn't have believed it! Oh, but toss some gin on the fire and it's all true!" Romelle collapsed laughing.

* * *

Word count minus from notes: 650

A/N: Romelle probably had the gin to throw on the fire anyway. And Keith was in fact making it up as he went along—Sven and Romelle just have incredibly good timing. You all decide what happened next…


	9. Inject

Inject—v., to force (a fluid) into tissue with a syringe; throw in; insert

* * *

"Swanky digs," Omega Smith commented, glancing over the top of his computer for the first time.

"It'd better be for the Galactic Defense Summit," his partner, Prism York answered. She tapped casually on her crystal tablet. "Besides—it's the Castle of Lions. The GDS had to be somewhere _symbolic_. Swanky is one thing, but safe it's not. The entire place is a convertible spaceship, and the firewalls are a joke."

"These Arusians love their convertibles," Omega said. "But the main problem is that they didn't think they needed any real firewalls. I mean, no one's ever heard of a Polluxite hacker, and before now Arus didn't have any other enemies. Besides that, the behavioral algorithms for the lions are so foreign it's not getting in that's the problem, but navigating."

Prism raised one purple eyebrow. "Of course the algorithms are foreign. They're lions, not ordinary mecha."

"Yeah, well maybe we'll be lucky enough and there will be an attack on the summit so I'll get a decent look at the amalgamated Voltron algorithm. The Arusians talk about the robot like it's a person with free will, but as far as the people who sign our paychecks are concerned, it's just a vehicle."

"Things to make you 'huh,'" Prism said. She raised her empty cup and looked significantly at one of the native waiters. "Though… an attack is pretty likely, come to think of it. A _lot_ of experts are here."

"And a lot of defensive measures," Omega said, looking at his computer.

"From what I hear, the Drule aren't too smart. Black coffee, please," she said to the waiter. "The reports say they keep sending these robeasts, and they keep getting knocked down. It'd be interesting if they sent one—I bet I'd be able to hack it if it had a crystal CPU."

"Tch. Not before I unraveled the algorithm and had it teaching Voltron the Macarena."

"You're on. Besides—I'm not sure they have algorithms. From what I hear, which include various and sundry sources, the robeasts are people suped up with cybernetics held together by duct tape, steroids, and voodoo. Thanks, waiter."

"Hold up—my eye in the atmosphere has something. Judging by the silhouette, it's Drule." Omega grinned.

"How long ago did you detect it?"

"Thirty seconds. Man, Arusian detection is faulty."

"Tsk." Prism shook her head.

"Hold on—I just injected my Watcher Gremlin into their main computer. Better firewalls, but more backdoors than a—"

"Tread carefully," Prism advised.

"—_gentleman's club_," Omega finished. "Networking's like a dish of spaghetti, they were good enough to label all their plans."

"Our bosses would be very interested in that," Prism said, tasting her coffee.

"Our bosses would be interested in the princess's diary, which I'm sure was one of your various and sundry sources, but you aren't going to hand that over."

"Touché," Prism conceded.

"_**ALERT! THE DRULE ARE ATTACKING! BATTLESTATIONS**_!"

"How close are they now?" she asked.

"Breaking atmo. Pa-the-tic," Omega chanted, shaking his head.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Did I mention that I don't have a No OC rule? Meet Omega and Prism, hackers who are really better than anybody knows. They will be coming back eventually.


	10. Jealous

Jealous – Resentfully suspicious or envious; watchful in guarding

* * *

"I think you spend too much time with that Romelle," Nanny mused as she folded one of Coran's shirts.

"Whatever do you mean, Nanny?" Allura asked to avoid rereading Coran's thesis on interplanetary politics.

"Oh… She's just so… She's a bad influence," Nanny said.

_Go on and tell me how you really feel,_ Allura thought sarcastically. "I don't see how. I actually think of her as a role model." _That's probably a bad idea, but I don't regret it… yet…_

"Really, Princess! She's no role model for you!"

"And why not?" Allura asked.

"She drinks like a fish!"

Allura shrugged. "Romelle has an iron stomach… and liver… and veins… and brain, but her heart seems pretty human. She can out-drink Sven, and he's Norwegian! And then she did an entire crossword puzzle and stopped Sven from dancing on the table. That sounds pretty mature to me."

"A princess should know her place," Nanny said authoritatively, as though that summed the matter up.

"Romelle's not a princess anymore. She's Queen-Regent now," Allura pointed out.

"That's just what I mean!" Nanny fumed. "The way she went about it—it's just… just…"

"Unheard of?" Allura asked. "That's how Romelle described it. I wish I could have been there when she marched right into the Imperial Senate and started issuing orders!"

Nanny groaned. "The impropriety of it!"

"Impropriety was putting Prince Bandor in charge of the empire. It's the best thing for Romelle and Sven to act as regents! And the boldness to make that decision and follow through!" Allura gushed in bittersweet spite.

"And that Sven…"

"What about Sven?" Allura asked. "He's just about the most noble member of the Voltron Force—aside from Keith," Allura added with a near sigh. "And it's all so romantic! She turned down Prince Lotor, and in a way he actually took it to heart! _I_ can't do that. Then when he tossed her in the Pit of Skulls, Sven and Romelle found each other…" Allura sighed again. "And saved each other…"

"Romantic fantasies!" Nanny said in the same tone she probably saved for terms like **flesh eating virus**, **economic disaster**, **genocide**, and **bikinis**. "Men flying around in lions are no men for princesses. And Sven knew his station and had the honor not to pursue her—"

"But Romelle knew that stupidity was second nature to every boy," Allura declared triumphantly and waited for Nanny to contradict her. She continued. "Romelle knew what she wanted, and she was focused enough to get what she wanted. Now she's happily married, a Queen, and one of my prime role models."

Nanny folded one of Allura's track suits with frightening efficiency.

"Nanny… Are you all right?"

"What do you care what I have to say? Go ask Romelle."

The discipline of a pilot failed her, but the discipline of royalty kept Allura from laughing out loud. "Nanny, are you _jealous_ of Romelle?"

Nanny snapped and folded one of her dresses.

"Well, Nanny—don't worry. I'm jealous of Romelle too."

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Keith, and especially Lotor would have been proper, but I can't help it… Romelle is just too awesome. And this gave me an excuse to partially explain her near immunity to all alcohol—Pollux (of the universe I'm writing) has a social drinking culture—pitcher of wine and pitcher of water at every meeting, like the Romans. Also like the Romans, this causes trouble, but we're not going into that right now. So, anyway, in this social drinking culture no one is more social than the Royal Family, and over the centuries they've gotten a bit immune. In some this means they drink more than anyone ever should and make ruined idiots of themselves. In Romelle's case, she has the advantage over every single Senator that by the time they are slobbering drunk, she's doing the hard hints on a crossword puzzle.

And now for this:

Proverbs 23:29-33

(29) Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has contentions? Who has complaints? Who has wounds without cause? Who has redness of eyes? (30) Those who linger long at the wine, those who go in search of mixed wine. (31) Do not look on the wine when it is red, when it sparkles in the cup, when it swirls around smoothly; (32) At the last it bites like a serpent, and stings like a viper. (33) Your eyes will see strange things, and your heart will utter perverse things. (34) Yes, you will be like one who lies down in the midst of the sea, or like one who lies at the top of the mast, saying: "They have struck me, but I was not hurt; They have beaten me, but I did not feel it. When shall I awake, that I may seek another drink?"

Note: If it really bothers some readers that much that I put Bible verses with something as completely unrelated as Voltron, I would like to point out that no one made those readers read them. This is not meant as an insult, but a reaction to past friction. Please have a nice day.


	11. Key

Key

* * *

Prince Lotor bolted the doors to his suite shut and shoved sturdy furniture against them. The drones had been instructed that _**absolutely**_ nothing was to disturb him—not his father, and not even Voltron—and that there were creative and terrible deaths in store for any who dared interrupt him.

Lotor stalked over to his multi-purpose black stone table and shoved the general debris of his habitation out of the way. On the table he set three perfect silver hemispheres in a triangle, just as the internet directions had said. The holographic image of a five inch tall woman wearing a bright blue minidress flickered to life.

"Hi," she said with a toss of her bright pink hair. "I'm Starre Juliet and I want to give you the keys to a great relationship. Ready?"

"Yes," Lotor answered, even though it felt wrong and silly. The internet directions had said "full audio interaction."

"So…"

"Prince Lotor."

"So, Prince Lotor, you've found the right girl, or the girl for right now?" the hologram asked.

"I have found the woman I am going to make my bride," he answered.

"Okay! Let's go with the basic keys and elaborate from there, okay? Trust, respect, affection, versatility, agreement, passion, fun, and place. Please answer yes or no when possible. Does the girl—"

"Allura."

"Does Allura trust you?"

"…Well… Trust is a vague concept. I don't trust the witch in my employ but to trust that she will do what she can to ruin me."

The hologram flickered. "Answer yes or no. Does she trust you?"

Lotor sneered at the holographic image. "I'd say no."

"Okay then! Question two—does she respect you?"

Lotor considered. "Yes, she does."

"Okay then! Question three—you have affection for her, but does she have affection for you?"

"No," answered Lotor.

"Okay then! Question four—are you willing to change for a relationship, or do you demand change?"

"I am open to compromise," Lotor said, nodding.

"Okay then! Question five—would you say that you and this girl are generally in agreement?"

"No."

"Okay then! Question six—is she physically attracted to you?"

"Yes."

"Okay then! Question seven—do you two typically have fun when you're together?"

"…No…"

"Okay then! Question eight—are you in similar places in life? The answer does not have to be yes or no."

"We are both of royal blood and destined to be wed. She is ruler of her planet and I have conquered entire systems, and will soon be head of my father's empire."

The tiny blue woman flickered again. "Please wait a moment while I conference with the network regarding your situation." She dimmed and hummed a peppy tine for a moment, then brightened. "Question nine—have you attempted bride kidnapping?"

"Yes, with less than satisfactory results, thanks to Voltron."

"Yeah, don't do that. Here's your personal key: cut out anything remotely related to bride kidnapping, and then ask me again later if that doesn't work," Juliet Starre said before vanishing.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: I don't know whether Lotor deserves commendation for the *coughreallysneakyandtotallyoutofcharactercough* effort at getting help with wooing Allura, or to laugh at the epic failure. In the original version he phoned into talk radio, but even I wouldn't subject Lotor to that. But for now I hope people enjoy his torment.


	12. Lunge

Lunge

* * *

Lotor crept along the hall, one hand on the hilt of his sword. His golden catlike eyes sliced through the midnight darkness of the Castle of Lions.

It was a simple enough mission—infiltrate Castle Control, steal the plans for the Lions, destroy the control center[, and finally steal the princess]. The style wasn't his usual—the plan didn't include any opportunity for a robeast distraction or a direct conflict with Voltron or any of the pilots. But here he was, _sneaking_ through the halls. His drones had already fanned out, and would take care of the titled mission. He had more important business in the royal wing.

Lotor had lost himself in a romantic fantasy involving kidnapping Allura and spiriting her away to the viewing deck of an imperial class battleship while the rest of the Voltron force stood by shaking their fists. He'd gotten to the maniacal laughter part when he became aware of a presence behind him.

Lotor was still turning when the figure lunged. His reflex to behead the assailant was held at bay only by a mane of yellow hair.

"Gotcha," Princess Allura said triumphantly. Though redundant in the darkness of the castle, she was wearing a blindfold. "Too tall to be Pidge… too muscular to be Lance…" A hand on his back moved higher and he felt his hair move. "And the hair's too long to be Hunk. Wow, Keith—you've really built up!"

Lotor's continued silence caused Allura to pull away. "Keith?" she asked.

Lotor decided to cut straight to the "happy chuckle." Allura's pout was truly adorable as she reached to the wall and so fortuitously found a light switch and pulled down the blindfold. She blinked rapidly for a few seconds with one dainty hand over her eyes, then looked back at the prince.

"Oh cr—" and she turned to run.

Lotor lunged.

Allura didn't really have a chance—she was so much smaller, so much weaker. She still struggled and yelled and managed to get a decent kick at his ribs as he lifted her off the ground.

"Do not struggle so, my Precious. You may find you quite enjoy your new life with me." Much to his shock, Allura cursed. When he got over the shock _that_ she cursed, he was astonished how articulate and eloquent her use of profanity was. This caused him to pause and wait for her to finish.

"Marco?" a voice called.

"Polo!" she yelled franticly back. "PO-LO!"

"Princess?" the hated voice of Commander Keith called.

"Lotor's got me!" she yelled. Lotor was moving again as laser blasts scored the walls around Lotor and he lunged for cover around a corner.

"You'll never get away with this," Allura hissed as Lotor pinned his to the wall with one arm and drew a blaster with the other.

"My dear, I already have," he lied.

A red hot pain in his back had him falling to the ground, consciousness ebbing.

"Bye, Lotor," a musical voice called.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 520

A/N: And this is the first continuing short.

Refferences to qualify the Parody subcategory: Let's see… "That's Lotor's happy chuckle" is a direct quote from Commander Keith. I couldn't resist referencing that at some point, and I don't have time to search through Hulu or youtube for the right episode of Voltron. And of course I had to reference the fascination half the fandom has with midnight kidnapping attempts which don't really fit Lotor's typical M.O. As for Allura's cursing—Romelle and Lance had heard her chief insult of "You… Monster!" enough times that they made sure she had something a bit more effective. It at least made Lotor stop.


	13. Marshmallow

Marshmallow

* * *

"All right team, what are we going to do?" Keith asked authoritatively of his assembled Voltron Force.

"Pass the marshmallows, Hunk," the Princess asked from her perch on a kitchen stool. Hunk obeyed, his ham sized fist already full of fluffy white sweets. Allura bit thoughtfully into one.

"Are you all right, Princess?" Pidge asked, attempting to filch a marshmallow from Hunk. "Lotor didn't hurt you, did he?"

It took a moment for Allura to realize someone was addressing her. She finished chewing and shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

"What happened before we got there?" Lance asked, taking the marshmallow bag from Allura.

"Nothing," she answered quickly. "We were playing manhunt, and I thought I'd find somebody over there, and somebody found me." She nodded after she said that, a subtle, silent order to close the issue.

"But what are we going to do?" Lance asked, hefting himself onto one of the kitchen counters. "Night is the only time we can have any fun around here without Nanny or Coran getting in the way."

"And you're learning valuable skills from things like manhunt," Keith said, sounding slightly annoyed at Lance's taking charge for a moment.

"But they'll want to know why we were all up," Pidge said slowly.

"They can't know," Allura said quickly. She did stand to lose the most if the midnight games were taken away. "Hand over the stupid marshmallows, Lance."

Lance relinquished the bag and watched as Allura bit mercilessly into the defenseless puffy white candy. "So…"

"We've got to do something about Lotor," Keith said with some level of annoyance, drawing attention back to himself. "We can't keep him tied up in the brig forever."

"Why not?" Allura said, then stuffed another half marshmallow into her mouth. Hunk braved her possible fury by attempting to take the bag. "…Um… You know, besides the obvious," she continued. A number of space mice attempted to pull the marshmallow bag off the table, but Pidge stopped them seriously.

"Well—we _do_ have our enemy as a prisoner," Lance pointed out. "That was always counted a plus in the academy."

"Did academy strategy classes involve hiding half the situation from a nosy Nanny? I swear, if she heard the words 'night attack from Lotor' in the context of _unchaperoned_, she might just demand a shotgun wedding." In the following awkward silence Allura snatched the marshmallows and stuffed one whole into her mouth.

Pidge looked confused. "What's a—"

"So I was thinking, since he's probably earned the death penalty hundreds of times over," Lance interrupted loudly.

"Lance!" Keith snapped. Allura and Hunk reached for more marshmallows. The air raid siren sounded.

"I think Lotor just escaped," Allura said. "That solves some of our problems."

"Come on team! We may be able to catch them on the way out!" Keith ordered.

"I'm going back to bed so I'll be above reproach," Allura said, hopping off her stool.

"Same," the rest of the force echoed. Keith visibly deflated and nodded.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Of all the prompts for a continuation of the last one, I never would have chosen Marshmallow. But this one has to be one of my personal favorites of them all.


	14. Neglect

Neglect

* * *

Allura moodily stirred her fruit juice cocktail.

The night had general characteristics of a good time—it was party, thrown for no better reason than that the Voltron Force _deserved_ a party every now and then. There was a bar (not that Allura was allowed to drink without Romelle as chaperone), buffet, dance floor, and some nice romantic balconies.

Allura kept stirring the cocktail, watching the ice melt, as she surveyed the party. Her friends fairly followed a script—

Hunk always found company at the buffet, or managed to find just the right person to introduce him to the chef (chefs being a very specific meat-cleaver wielding species whose only weakness appears to be earnest flattery). Pidge could usually find some interesting people to talk to, or a senator's cute daughter, or some scrappy urchins to hang out with for the evening. Keith would stand around and talk idealistic politics with those in the know (By now Allura could almost quote his little spiel by heart). With Lance… it depended on his mood. He might show off, pick a fight, disappear for the servants' party (which he'd taken Allura to once, and it had been wonderful fun), play cards, or if there was a great enough population of young women (like there was tonight) and the music was lively enough, he'd dance.

_And me?_ Allura asked sullenly. _I sit and wait because no one talks politics to a mere princess, and no one asks someone as intimidating as a princess to dance._

"Alone on such a beautiful evening, your Highness?" a debonair young man in some sort of military dress uniform asked, offering a glass of punch.

Allura accepted the cup. "Alone? No, it's quite a party."

The young man laughed carelessly. "Yet here you stand, the only member of the Voltron force without a partner." Allura looked to the dance floor. A general was scowling as Lance slow-danced with his daughter. Pidge was twirling a girl a full head taller than him while nearby Hunk dipped a pretty young chef. Keith appeared to be making small talk as he danced with a duchess.

"If I may be so bold—" the young man said, meeting her eyes.

"It's best if you're not," Allura answered, her eyes wandering back to Keith. The duchess laughed and Allura lifted the punch to her lips.

"I've never been good at leaving well enough alone," he answered, in what she supposed was meant to be a joke. Allura decided to treat it as such.

"I have a stalker who has that problem," she commented lightly. "Maybe you've heard of him?"

The military man laughed. "Ah, yes… I don't believe my faults are _that_ advanced. I merely wished to express what a crime neglect was."

"Neglect?"

"The crime of leaving a beautiful young woman alone on a beautiful night. Would you care to dance? To soothe my conscience that there is no unseemly neglect happening on my watch?"

Allura set her punch aside. "I suppose."

* * *

Words count minus notes: 500

A/N: This was originally supposed to be some jerk hitting on Allura at the bar, and Keith calling her away for some surprise attack… but I like this better… and that one would have taken too many words. And if his dense skull wouldn't cause Allura to give up, his neglect would. Tsk tsk.


	15. Off

Off

A/N: This one is not a drabble. There was no way to fit this into 500ish words.

* * *

Prince Lotor was surprised when he saw what appeared to be the five lions of Voltron docking at the space port he was on a mission to raid and destroy. Something was… off, but they were the lions. On the bridge of the flagship of his task force he tented his fingers.

He could always strike right then—cripple the lions, breach the space station, attack in the panic, find the princess, and make off with her while her companions watched in futility.

But that was so… sneaky. It may be his greatest strategic fault, but a sneak attack just never appealed to him. It was too like what his father would do—never fighting face to face, in the honorable way. Not that trying to capture the princess in a state of mayhem was unappealing…

"Change of plans," he announced over the intercom. "Since the Voltron Force is here, we're going aboard to loot the station first. Try and take out the members before they can get to their lions. You have my orders!" The drones made noises of assent, and began hacking into the space station's computer systems. They docked, the air locks filled, and the Drule raiding party entered the space station.

Prince Lotor had planned to drive the station to pandemonium. It confused him to find it already in that state—a controlled pandemonium, but utter chaos nonetheless. Thick black and orange cords intertwined and tangled on floors everywhere, too-bright lights shined into three-walled rooms connected by what looked like plaster tubes. Adjacent to the false rooms were practice mats where he could see young men who, from that distance, looked a bit like Voltron Force members practicing with orange plastic weapons.

Prince Lotor's brow creased. Something was off about the entire mission…

In the midst of a tighter circle of chaos in the chaos was a bearded Terran wearing come kind of billed cap, an expression of barely controlled rage on his face. He appeared to be dressed as some member of the working class, even though the ID card on his neck labeled him Director. Director of what wasn't supplied, though everyone around him appeared to be listening. "We were supposed to start filming the kidnap scene forty-five minutes ago! You know the child-labor laws—we can't keep the Suzuishi twins waiting!"

Lotor heard a feminine sigh and turned to… **not** Allura. Something was not wrong, but off. This girl had a differently shaped nose, and her forehead wasn't as high, and almost as perfect a double as whatshername from Pollux. Despite it being the middle of the day she looked as though she was ready to go to sleep—she was wearing a flimsy pink night gown and slippers with her thick blonde hair in a loose braid.

"You must be the new Prince Lotor," she said. "Nice to meet you. I'm Fala Spielberg." She had Allura's smile—well, from what Lotor could tell from pictures he'd seen. The director was already shouting at other people, walking away and Fala went after him, beckoning Lotor to do so. Against himself Lotor followed. "Come on—Dad wants to get the kidnap scene in today, so we'd better get you to makeup. Short cut's this way."

It was not in Lotor's nature to be manhandled—though some girl barely over one hundred pounds leading him couldn't possibly count as manhandling. He allowed himself to be led around what looked like a gutted version of the Castle of Lions, dodging worried looking people hurrying in all directions. It all looked like it should, perhaps brighter in places or darker… but it was all just _off. _They ran into the director going around one corner.

"Dad—this is the new guy playing Lotor. I was just taking him to makeup," Fala said. Her father nodded and turned away.

"LIGHTS ON SET FIVE FOR THE KIDNAP SCENE!" A boy who looked about sixteen handed the director a steaming cup and disappeared back into the chaos. Director Spielberg turned back to Lotor and his daughter. "We _need_ to get filming. New Lotor—you know the kidnap scene. You come in the window, grab the princess, the space mice jump you, Fala runs, you chase, fight with Kogane, then cut. Your face is shiny, so get to makeup. WHERE ARE THE CAMERAS?"

"He eases up—it's been a bad day," Fala said, leading Lotor and his drone party to a line of canvas chairs in front of vanity mirrors. She began rubbing a thick paste the shade of her skin onto her cheeks and forehead. "Good thing there aren't too many lines to mess up in this scene."

"You! Get in the chair and take off the helmet," a frowning man with a ponytail said, advancing with a few paintbrushes and a pallet with several shades of blue on it. "Why do they let the monsters go to anyone else? Just look at him! One shade all the way across! No highlight, no lowlight, no accent! Tch—and who bleached your eyebrows? Rookies! About all they ever do get right are the prosthetics, but with plastic surgery these days, who needs them? By the way, who are the Drule-bots? They're not going on set. They don't even match the character design we've been using for the drones."

"Sir—" one of the drones said, tapping Lotor on the shoulder.

"What?" Lotor growled, turning.

"Don't **turn**! Get back in the light! If you want to work here, you've got to be _professional_!"

"Sir, there appears to be something going on here that we didn't know about," the drone continued, moving behind Lotor so it could be seen in the mirror. Lotor frowned.

"Hold that!" the ponytailed man ordered. He dipped a rigid brush into a darker shade of blue and traced Lotor's frown-lines. "Okay, relax and I'll spray on the sealer." Lotor complied, only because it seemed to be the quickest way of getting rid of the man.

"The information logs indicate the Terrans are making a… movie, your highness. A film. It's entertainment. How shall we proceed?"

Lotor looked at himself in the mirror. He _did_ look better. The angles of his face were more severe, and the eyeliner _did _make his eyes look more gold than orange. He wasn't sure why his nose was a lighter shade of blue than most of the rest of his face, but it had a decent effect in the light.

"…I'll kidnap the girl, then we'll destroy the station. Hah! Making a _film_ about Voltron. Let's give them a show." He laughed. "Go back to the ship and ready my fighter. I'll show them _Prince Lotor._"

Lotor marched off to the set.

* * *

Word count minus notes: lots more than 500

A/N: It was about time for a continuing arc. And it's about time to do something with the parody subcategory. Meet the Spielbergs, who have been in movies for generations. Suzushi (Pidge, now split into twins because of child labor laws), Kogane (some random pretty-boy actor playing Keith), and Fala (Spielberg's actress daughter, who bears a striking resemblance to Allura, just like every other blonde in the Voltron universe) all come from GoLion, and if their names are spelled wrong, it's because I got them from Wikipedia.

Also I have an unbelievably full schedule for the next few days, than I will be away from computers for a full week, so there will be some interruptions in updating.


	16. Pastrami

Pastrami—Spiced, smoked beef.

A/N: When I was continuing Lunge, I got Marshmallow. I'm continuing Off with Pastrami. I see a trend in the randomosity…

* * *

Lance shushed the space mice as he surreptitiously opened the cabinets. The clock above the door read 24:36. His stomach grumbled loudly.

Nanny had put him on bread and water since she had found out he'd cut a Voltron Movie deal. He didn't know what her problem was, really—no one else would have been able to get as good a deal. Betamax Spielberg was directing it for crying out loud! And his daughter was playing Allura (dead ringer for the princess, too)! And _Lucasfilm Infinite_ as the production company—the special effects, the prestige, the _budget_!

So what if Lance hadn't consulted Nanny about the script? Sure, there were those two or three scenes with Allura that Nanny wouldn't necessarily approve of, but they weren't _that_ bad! And with her dad directing, it's not like the actress would have to do anything… uncomfortable.

So Lance was relegated to one decent meal a day, his midnight snack. He wondered if he was lucky that Nanny was feeding him at all, even if the stuff was worse than what they served at the Academy. He reached into the drawer and selected a few knives. The bread knife, for Nanny's whole grain seed bread. The cheese knife, for the sharp cheddar (he and the mice had an _understanding_). The spreading knife, for the horseradish sauce. Finally a steak knife for the glorious, spicy pastrami.

Lance breathed in deeply and held the breadknife like a conductor, an imitation of Hunk at his more cultured moments. The moment was interrupted by his growling stomach. He sighed and started sawing at the seed bread.

It had been a bad day—woken early by a natural disaster (volcanic, of course) on the other side of the planet. Then Nanny had said since he was rude enough to miss breakfast, she wouldn't feed him late (never mind Coran and Allura's midmorning brunch of fruit salad in cantaloupe halves. He'd gotten Allura's barely touched bowl when Nanny wasn't looking. Lance hated cantaloupe). Then at lunch, bread and water—the guys had vegetable and beef stew, and he got day old bread and an extra serving of attitude. He'd sent the attitude back. Then drilling all afternoon, and he was sloppy when he was hungry and annoyed (easy for Keith to be so righteous on a full stomach). And dinner was Hunk's favorite—shepherd's pie with mashed potatoes and glazed green beans, and wild-berry pie for dessert. Not a favorite of Lance's, but it _did_ smell like Mom used to make. And Hunk's enthusiasm didn't help. Or Nanny's vulture-like surveillance of scraps, feeding "those 'orrid mice" to bursting while Lance gnawed on hard bread crusts.

He'd gotten one bite of his sandwich—the wonderful, woody taste of the bread fully complimenting the texture of the cheese, bite of the horseradish, and spice of the meat—when the alarms sounded. He groaned, wrapped the sandwich in a napkin, and stuffed it into his pocket.

He rushed into Castle Control right after Nanny, Coran, and Keith. The message was short. The Drule empire had attacked the filming of _Voltron: Reawakened _(some idiot had already stolen bought the rights to "Defender of the Universe" as a movie title, for a movie which had _nothing_ to do with Voltron) and kidnapped Fala Spielberg. They were requesting Voltron to save her (and allow a seasoned war-zone documentary camera crew to come along. Lance doubted that, but wasn't about to say anything like "Hey—you worked on _Gorgons VII!"_).

"Get some sleep team! We'll head out in the morning!" Keith ordered. Nanny rounded on Lance.

"And vhy are you all dressed at this hour?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm a gentleman and didn't want to scar your princess with the sight of what I look like at midnight," Lance answered sarcastically.

"And why do you smell like 'orseradish, huh?" She frisked Lance with surprising ferocity, and found his contraband sandwich. "Aha! I'll just go and lock the cabinets!"

Lance stalked off to his room, knowing that while the seed bread, horseradish, cheddar, and pastrami would be there, the mice would only bring a butter knife and it would cost him almost half a pound of chocolate.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 702

A/N: Now let's play "Find the References!" Movies, celebrities, books, and whatever else (you may find more than I knew I put in!) Answers of what I know I put in on next chapter.

And remember: reviews=happiness


	17. Quaver

Quaver

* * *

Lance grit his teeth and let loose a jet of flame.

"Wonderful effect," the quavering intern director whispered at his ear. "This is _so_ cool!"

Lance growled then yelled as his lion tore through a cluster of fighters.

"Perfect!" the director squeaked.

"Will you cut that out!?!" he snapped, turning in his seat.

"Don't look at the camera!" the camerawoman snapped.

"_Look out!_" the intern shrieked, pointing over Lance's shoulder. Her nail clipped his jaw, opening a shaving cut he'd thought had healed.

"And you ruined it, Jen!" the girl behind the camera barked as Lance banked hard away from a heavy assault ship. "The blood is great, but of course your hand was in the shot. In his eye-line even!"

"**Just shut up**!" Lance yelled as he raked over one of the main ion cannons with the Lion Claws.

The director made a sound that sounded like _squee_. "That's it! Keep yelling! Angrier, sharper, doesn't matter what!"

"Just shut up! Do you have _any_ idea how annoying you are?" Lance said, turning the lion and jetting to a blind spot in the assault ship's gun array.

Lance could feel Director Jen trembling. "That's it! Keep yelling—stay angry! We can dub in lines after!"

"And dub out your fangirl squealing," the cameragirl muttered. Lance began growling again. Until that point he didn't know he was capable of growling.

"Shut up, Lisa! Just make sure you get the shot of his reflection in the glass. Lance, maneuver the lion so that its back is to the enemies. I want your reflection on the canopy."

"No! I'm not going to put my back to the—" Lance broke off to deal with a Drule fighter pilot who actually had some talent. "—back to the enemy so you can get a stupid _effect_? A look?"

"_There it is!_" Director Jen squeaked as an explosion somewhere to the rear sent the lion spiraling forward and Lance was thrown onto his console. "Tell me you got that! We can **not** repeat that shot!"

"Yes, I got it, you spastic stalker fangirl," Lisa answered.

"Shut it, Lisa, and get the stupid shot."

"Look, there's a bit of space in the air lock where you both can go, and you will if you do not _**SHUT UP**_," Lance ordered. The director was still quavering in excitement.

"Come on guys! Time to form Voltron!" Commander Keith ordered over the intercom.

"Oh, thank you," Lance sighed. He blazed through the space junk in his part of the battlefield towards the rest of the force and joined up into pre-joining formation.

"Wait!" the quivering director intern yelped as Lance's chair retreated to the sound of Keith's narration of Voltron's assembly. "Where are you going?" Lisa kept the camera trained on Lance with a steady hand he could respect.

"Voltron cockpit," Lance answered with a grin and a little wave. Jen swooned, and looked down at her fingernail. "He bled on me…" she said. "_He bled on me_… (sigh)"

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: And meet the next OCs: Intern Director Jen, and Lisa the professional student camerawoman. This is going to be the last update for a week. (Sorry)

References from the last chapter: Betamax—the cassette which predated VHS. Spielberg—obvious. Fala, Kogane, and Suzushi—Allura's, Keith's, and Pidge's names in the original series. "Defender of the Universe" being taken, thusly limiting Voltron's title—"Avatar" being taken, thusly limiting the movie title to "The Last Airbender." The mice and chocolate thing—a book I read as I child, and I have litereally no more time.

For those who wish to know, Allura got a cute intern director who basically just pointed out targets for her to shoot at and a random cameraman, Keith got a cameraman, Hunk got a cameragirl, and Pidge got a hilarious director and cute intern cameragirl. And Nanny may have dropped a few bribes to make sure Lance got the crazy fangirl intern director.

As always, though not always said, thank you for reading.


	18. Realm

Realm

A/N: My finger landed exactly between realm and realtor. I don't think there's a single appropriate climax to the arc I can do with realtor, so realm it is.

* * *

Lotor scowled as his footsteps echoed in the corridor of his heavy carrier base ship.

The Terrans had called the Voltron Force to come rescue the actress. He was already avoiding a screaming match with his father over the raid—so _what_ if he hadn't sent the space station to flaming oblivion? So _what_ if all he got away with was seventy billion in fluid currency, some extension cords, and an actress.

…So it was bringing Voltron after him. And Voltron was currently tearing through the fleet, but it was his father's fleet being torn apart and King Zarkon ought to know he got what he paid for when he skived off payment for an armada.

Lotor stood before the doors to his harem and they opened with an ominous grinding.

None of the slaves seemed to notice his entrance, which Lotor was not accustomed to. But his injured vanity took a (close) second seat to his shock at the spectacle a blonde who could only be Fala was making. Music was blaring as she half walked, half danced down a table surrounded on both sides by his harem members, _singing_ (something about "under da sea"). He didn't know where her pink costume nightgown had gone, or where she'd gotten skin tight black pants, standard issue robot-drone boots, one of his skull-buckled belts (which hung loosely at an angle on her hips), and a black t-shirt.

His gaze snapped to some slack, happy looking guards at the doors. They sensed his rage and lined up in front of him.

"Stop the music _now_."

One rushed off to a wall panel as the song ended. Fala jumped off the table and advanced as Lotor stalked toward her, thinking of the strategic ramifications of killing the actress and leaving her corpse floating in space. Fala Spielberg stopped before he did and bowed deeply.

"And what was all this?" he growled, coming within striking distance.

"A show. For the harem girls," Fala said simply, putting her hands comfortably on her hips. "I mean, it made more sense than sitting there quavering in fear."

"How so?" Lotor scoffed.

"Well, it kind of goes back to _Peotor Realm's Guide to Life_," Fala answered. "Kind of the unofficial handbook for most actors today. It's basically about dividing your life into a bunch of different Realms so you can deal with living so many different lives. I'm not shooting a horror movie, so the Realm of Fear is pretty useless. But considering the rate these girls get beheaded and stuff, it's gotta suck to be them. So I stay in the Realm of Showmanship, and I put on a show. Give a little back."

"My slaves could be working in mines instead of here," Lotor snarled.

"And a decent show every now and then improves everybody's life," Fala reasoned. "Please don't punish them for this—it was all completely my idea. They were fine with waiting in fear."

"Prince Lotor! It's Voltron!"

Lotor glared and stalked away.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Why did the robot drones steal extension cords? 1-Because that was two words, as opposed to "falafel." 2-It doesn't open the issue of exactly _why_ robot drones would steal falafels (a concept which I'd like to explore in perhaps 500ish words). Fala got the spare clothing from the harem's communal closet.

In Christ,

ZN


	19. SaltLick

Salt-Lick

* * *

"All right team! They've released the robeast!" Keith announced as a hulking silhouette floated out of the heavy carrier.

"Should we get the film people out of our empty cockpits? They'll be right in the battle where they are," Allura said.

"_They'll be __**fine**_," Lance said with deathly seriousness. No one argued.

"What _is_ it?" Pidge said, turning to the robeast. It was horned, huge, and had red glowing eyes… and comparatively thin, short arms and legs.

"Is that a cow?" Hunk asked. As they drew closer the robeast became more visible. It was a giant Guernsey cow.

"It _is_ a cow," Pidge agreed.

"…a…cow…" Lance said, as though saying it out loud would cause it to make sense. He began to laugh. "Well, if that's the best Haggar can come up with—"

"Don't get cocky," Keith ordered. "It's probably hiding something."

"Yes—the cow is hiding its laser udders of doom," Lance said as another bulky shape dropped out of the carrier. The cow appeared to moo and turned for the second shape.

"What is that?" Allura asked. Keith pressed a few buttons on his instrument panel and the viewing screen zoomed in on the cow and…

"A salt-lick. We are fighting a giant space cow and its salt-lick. I don't believe this," Lance said.

They watched as the cow began to lick the salt-lick, which tumbled in space. Its cloven hooves were the first to morph, becoming black, sharp, and unquestionably hard. The horns grew, curled and sharpened. The fur took the texture of millions of needles. The tail became cannon on a snakelike arm. The cow lost interest in the spinning salt-lick and turned towards Voltron.

"A giant space cow and its _evil_ salt-lick," Pidge corrected.

"All right team! Let's let 'em have it with both arms!" Keith ordered, pushing Voltron forward.

"The camera people—" Allura said.

"You know, we don't know what happens to the cockpits when our chairs come up here," Lance said as he let loose a jet of flame from the right arm. "It's possible they were all already crushed to death."

"And that doesn't bother you?" Allura squeaked as she kicked the saber-toothed cow away. It went back towards the salt-lick.

"Real waste of talent with the cameragirl," Lance replied. "But they were never supposed to be in the cockpits anyway. Occupational hazard."

"Cut it out Lance," Keith said authoritatively. "What is the cow doing?"

The cow doubled in size and released another wild, soundless roar.

"Destroy the salt-lick!" Keith ordered, already tapping out the sequence for Blazing Sword. Pidge held the cow with his lion's jaws while Hunk kicked it in the stomach (assuming the pink, still soft looking udders were a weakness). The cow convulsed in pain and backed away as soon as Pidge released it. Keith explosively destroyed the salt-lick with the Blazing Sword. Voltron immediately spun around to its enemy, finding a quickly shrinking space cow mooing complacently in the night.

"Pick it up," Keith ordered.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Yes. The robeast was a cow. And as for the group cockpit: since writing this I've learned that the pilots actually stayed in their own lions (which seems a bit stupid to me, keeping a pilot in the head of the lion when Voltron is using it as a fist). But then again, what's Voltron without inconsistencies? Also, Lance has something to say:

Lance: A cow?

Lotor: Yes! A cow! A cow that almost defe—

Lance: A cow? That's stupid.

Lotor: It almost defeated you!

Lance: That's _stupid_ stupid.

ZN: Yes, yes it was.

In Christ,

ZN


	20. Tombstone

Tombstone

* * *

"Wow! That was really something!" Pidge sighed, putting his arms behind his head.

"Good work team," Keith said appreciatively.

"Let's see," Hunk began, "we filmed some fight scenes on the way over while we beat up Zarkon's fleet; we beat up a giant space cow—"

"And saved the cow," Lance interrupted.

"Yeah. Then we separated and docked in Lotor's ship, shot our way into Lotor's throne room—"

"Harem," Allura corrected.

"You really are his type, Princess," Lance snickered. She was already speaking (see, yelling) over him when he continued "Blonde hair, blue eyes, and—"

"Hey, Lance," Keith said in a warning tone.

Hunk picked up again before a real fight could get going. "And saved Fala Spielberg, and the film crews shot us getting back to the lions."

"My favorite part was when Fala jumped off that vase and kicked Lotor in the head," Pidge said brightly. "I just feel bad that the slaves didn't come with us."

"We couldn't have taken all of them," Allura sighed. "And Lotor would have made it worse for everyone who stayed behind. They're loyal to one another." A somber, dutiful silence fell over the cockpit.

"And for the twenty minutes we were still in radio range, Lotor was ranting at us," Lance said laughingly.

"And we couldn't tune him out!" Pidge groaned, shaking his head.

"I almost defeated Voltron, I _almost_ defeated Voltron, I _**almost**_ _defeated_ Voltron," Lance said gravely in an imitation of Lotor's voice. "I'm gonna make sure they engrave that on him tombstone! I ALMOST DEFEATED VOLTRON AND GOT MY—"

"Robeast," Hunk interjected, anticipating.

"—ROYALLY HANDED TO ME _EVERY SINGLE TIME_." The pilots laughed.

"Hey, Lance?" Pidge asked. "The girl with the camera in Lotor's place—she rode in your lion, right?"

"Lisa? Yeah, she's cool."

"She got the entire thing, right?"

"Well, as much as she could," Lance answered. "We did tell the film people not to follow us—and I told Lise and Jen a _**lot**_ harder than you told your guys—but she came anyway. She at least got everything interesting. Lisa didn't miss a shot the entire way over."

"You got a camera and a director, right?" Hunk asked.

"Yeah," Lance said. "Camerawoman Lisa and Director intern Jen. You know, to come follow us I think Lisa may have knocked Director Jen out first. I think the intern is stalking me. Lisa did call her crazy, spastic, stalker fangirl a few times on the way over and she did act it."

"Speaking of stalkers," Allura said. "I like that idea about the tombstone. You know, since Lotor gave us so much material for the movie."

"What? Send him a tombstone?" Hunk asked.

"With I ALMOST DEFEATED VOLTRON engraved on it," Keith said, thinking aloud. "I kind of like it. How about we send it as a present when the movie premiers?"

"We do have a full transcript of his rant," Pidge said helpfully. "We could get the entire thing on it."

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Yeah, I kind of cheaped you out of the climax scene (To use it in the movie they' will probably have to say Fala was Romelle, because Romelle actually would kick Lotor in the head). Half reference to Invader Zim (final part of "GIR Goes Crazy and Stuff" with the squid-man on the beach) and an old B-movie I grew up with, Spaced Invaders ("Prepare to die, Earth Scum! Prepare to die, Earth Scum! Prepare to die, Earth Scum! I'm gonna make sure they engrave that on your tombstone!"). Edit: Due to writing of the movie, Fala kicking Lotor in the head did not go in at all.

In Christ,

ZN


	21. Uphold

Uphold

* * *

"'Upholding the Law of the Universe'?" Lance read skeptically. "That makes Voltron sound like a common police officer."

"Well, since someone already bought the rights to 'Defender of the Universe,' we had to get something," Chief Editor Ray said, his feet propped up on the sound mixing board. Lance looked back at the list of possible phrases. "The scripted version was 'Defender of Arus,' but a few of the people on the producing board wanted something about the universe instead of Arus. They said it was too exclusivist."

"Exclusivist? Well, Voltron is from, based on, and mainly does missions to protect Arus. Keith just said Defender of the Universe after a few missions, and it kind of caught on."

"Well, if there's anything else the team wants said, it would help to get it in soon, since they're still in production. Sound editing different lines is a real pain with live action. I can stretch a few frames of a certain mouth shape and move things around some, but I can't do everything."

"Can't you just use CGI to cover things? Just to make the mouth do what we need?" Lance asked.

"You would think so, but we insulted a few of the wrong people, and our CGI is stuck in the twenty-first century. It's enough to gloss over our mechanical prop lions, but I don't even want to go near people with it." Ray stood and stretched. Lance wondered, not for the first time, why Hawaiian print shirts still existed, or why it was legal to sell, own, or wear one. He suspected Ray of the first and wished there wasn't evidence of the last two.

A knock came at the door and an intern poked his head in. "Sir, the Voltron Force want to know how long this is going to take."

"Translation, they want to make sure I'm doing anything they wouldn't approve of," Lance said. Hunk and Pidge pushed past the intern, followed by Allura and Keith. "Hey! Y-you can't be here! It's res—" He stopped when Allura gave him a sweet, inquisitive smile.

"What did you say?"

"Intern! I haven't had my seventh cup of coffee," said Ray. The intern, now an interesting green-tinged shade of red, ducked out. "We were just going over Commander Keith's catch-phrase since the rights to Defender of the Universe were already taken."

"Catch phrase?" Keith asked, obviously mystified by the concept.

"Let me see," Allura said, taking the list. Pidge pulled it lower and he and Hunk read through around Allura.

"_Catch phrase_? That's stupid. Why does Keith have to have a catch phrase?" Keith asked.

"These are all right," Allura said. "Why do all the ones with 'savior' have red marks next to them?"

"People would get mad, saying we were deifying Voltron. It's just easier to avoid the argument," Ray said. "The 'upholding' ones get green lights across the board, if you could pick from those."

"Catch phrase? Really?"

"Yes, Keith, your catch phrase," Lance answered.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Yes, Keith, your catch phrase.

In Christ,

ZN


	22. Votive

* * *

Votive—given, done, or offered in fulfillment of an oath or vow

A/N: Before reading this, you may wish to go back and read the companion "Recruitment Posters."

* * *

"…This is how you make petty cash?" Prism asked uncomfortably.

"Well, yes, but so much more!" Omega answered, opening a file. "I own my own business. It's the American dream."

"You were born on the Io colony _after_ that one-world government fiasco," Prism said.

"I've got heritage. Do you want to see my business or not?"

"I'm afraid to," Prism answered, pulling up a chair. After a moment she asked "_Why_ votive candles?"

"It's all part of the plan," Omega answered. "You see, it all started when Princess Allura did those recruitment posters—"

"One of which happens to be on the wall right there," Prism interrupted.

"Yep. First edition, pose number two on the beach. Worth a fortune. Anyway, a bulk order was placed by a shady ragdoll figure."

"Who was obviously Prince Lotor trying to cover up the fact that he was buying enough posters to wallpaper a gymnasium," said Prism.

"Right. And that got me to thinking, there have got to be a lot of stalkers out there for members of the Voltron force," Omega continued.

"And you want to take their money," Prism finished.

"That's just the start of it. Yes, I take their money with a range of votive candles for every stalker, from those on a student budget to Prince of Doom caliber obsession."

"…This should bother you, shouldn't it?"

"If the stalkers are going to buy candles anyway, why not from me?" Omega asked. "Anyway, the votive candles are really a negligible part of the plan. I provide product untraceably—"

"Nearly untraceably," Prism corrected.

"You're the first, so you don't count," Omega answered. "Anyway, the transaction allows _me_ to keep track of exactly how they spend their money."

"That's not moral."

"Nope. So isn't it better that I'm doing this than someone with moral problems about it, right?"

Prism blinked for a few seconds. "So you maintain a Big-Brother level of creepy surveillance on the stalkers. Then what?"

"Well, it differs from client to client. Prince Lotor's personal information I sell whenever I need something expensive. For less important clients I actually abide by my confidentiality promise."

"And how do you pick up these low-profile clients?" asked Prism skeptically.

"I have a watchdog virus patrolling some forums. Then I send them ads—"

"Omega—are you doing stuff with subliminal messaging again?"

"No! I—_no_, I'm not—okay, once or twice, but they _really_ needed to be watched," Omega said.

"And what do you do with all this information?" Prism asked, shaking her head.

"I send it to the Arusian Palace Guard's watch list. I've been knighted for my efforts," Omega gloated.

"Tch. Knighted for watching Allura's legion of stalkers?"

"Oh no. You wouldn't _believe_ the girls who're after the others. Theses this new one—just started buying candles from me—who is downright scary. She wrote thirteen _very_ disturbing pages involving Lance, his lion, and a shaving cut. You don't want to know. I read it and _I _don't want to know. I've already filed the restraining order paperwork."

"You're a hero, Omega," Prism sighed. "A creepy, amoral hero."

"I try."

* * *

Word count minus notes: 520

A/N: Too much fun to pass up the return of my master hackers! They even got twenty extra words. And yes, the invasion of privacy like this is wrong, awful, and not justified. Which is why Omega does it instead of someone who has recognizable morals about the differences between "can" and "should."

And because of some uploading problems over the last couple days, I'm catching up with extra chapters today.

In Christ,

ZN


	23. Weight

Weight

* * *

"Put on some weight since the last physical exam, huh Hunk?" Pidge asked as the Hunk stepped off the scale.

"Yeah, and it's all muscle!" Hunk answered as he stood on the wall to have his height measured.

"Right—since all you do is sit around in a cockpit and eat," Lance said as a doctor took his blood pressure.

"Hey, now. There's a lot of running he does in between," Pidge said fairly, hopping off the scale.

"Oh! I've been insulted!" Hunk said. "Is there some way you'd like to settle this, Pidge?"

"Sure!" the child answered, taking a fighting stance. Hunk just laughed.

"I can't fight you! I might squish you by accident," he said.

"What?!"

"You should listen to him, Pidge. Hunk may have four times your body mass, but he does know how to throw his weight around," Lance laughed, walking past them.

"Hey—it's not the weight, it's how you use it. Care for a demonstration, Lance?" Pidge asked hotly.

"I've got better things to do than get into grudge matches. Later," Lance answered as he grabbed his jacket and left, tipping a casual salute to Nanny and Allura as they came in.

"Boys out! The Princess has to take her physical exam," Nanny ordered.

"Hey, Nanny?" Pidge asked as he made his way for the door. "Do you think you could make some heavier meals? I'm trying to bulk up."

"I'm not sure if the Princess would appreciate that," Nanny said.

"_Nanny!_" Pidge and Hunk eased out of the room, but were unable to stop themselves from listening at the door.

"What? You're becoming a woman! You should gain weight—a more womanly figure would suit you," they heard Nanny say.

"Ooh! Nanny, I haven't gained any weight. I'll _prove_ it." There was a weighty silence, confident at first, then dire. "I just had lunch," Allura sniffed. Pidge shoved his fist into his mouth to muffle his laughter.

"I thought those pants weren't fitting you right," Nanny said in a self-righteous tone.

"Jeans are _supposed_ to fit like that," Allura snapped. A doctor's calm voice asked for something and the argument was broken off.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll start serving salads," Nanny said.

"Over a day a person's weight fluctuates. I'm just holding a bit more right now—by the end of the week I'll be fine. Go ahead and serve Pidge some heavy meals. I don't care," Allura's voice rang with womanly bravado.

"If you say so," Nanny said. Hunk and Pidge rushed for the hall when they heard her footsteps nearing the door. Around the corner they found Lance and Keith talking.

"Yeah, so just make sure not to mention anything about weight near the princess right about now," he said in a tone that suggested he was changing the subject. "Might help to see she gets some chocolate, but Nanny's gone and made her self-conscious, so won't accept any. She'll be fine by the end of the week."

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Not much to say for this one, other than even seemingly perfect girls like Allura worry about trivial things like a few pounds.

In Christ,

ZN


	24. Xerox

Xerox

* * *

"Hey, Coran. Could you Xerox these forms for me?" Lance asked in an uncharacteristically businesslike tone, dropping the forms on Coran's desk.

"Lance, I'm in the middle of an audit," Coran said, picking the papers up in spite of himself. "And you want me to do _what_ with your forms?" He didn't recognize the watermark on the paper—a stylized font reading LUCASFILM INFINITE.

"Xerox. Make copies. Oh! I didn't show you the Xerox machine I bought for you—a big thanks for all your work," Lance rambled, guiding Coran up and towards the door of his office. "Nothing revolutionized office work like the Xerox machine! It'll cut your work day in half, I promise. No holds barred when I ordered this."

Coran looked skeptically at a cubic meter of light gray plastic.

"Um… well…"

Lance charged on. "Oh, this? This is nothing." He pressed a red button on a large silver remote which he then handed to Coran. Hair-thin seams widened and shifted as the cube unfolded into… something that was not a cube, as Coran understood it.

"Lance, um… it's very… Well, what is it?" Coran asked as Lance took his hand off Coran's shoulder and walking towards the machine.

"The modern Xerox machine can do almost anything," Lance said, holding his arm out over the machine. It began humming. "This baby can make calls, send faxes, sync with the intercom, send e-mail, proof-read drafts, take dictation—with a variety of document templates no less—read even the most intricate formal script, imitate your own handwriting—with a number of different pens and inks—translate ninety percent of known languages and dialects _and _is capable of instant messaging,." He pushed a button after he said each feature, causing the thing to further unfold.

"My, Lance… It certainly is—" Coran began.

"Oh, I'm not done yet," Lance said with an untrustworthy glint in his eyes. "It prints its own watermark to save on paper, has software for detecting all forms of espionage, counterfeiting, and tacky faux pas."

"Yes, that's very useful but—"

"Just wait up, Coran. I know you're excited, but there's still more to go. Not quite last and certainly not least," Lance paused dramatically, and the machine's humming took on a high, urgent tone that gave Coran the impression it was about to explode. "It makes drinks. Any kind of coffee, tea, cocoa or cocktail, though there wasn't room for a wine cooler, so if you want the alcoholic drinks you'll have to load them in. Why would you need alcohol in the office? Perhaps to celebrate some good news just faxed in from the Alliance. And now the crowning achievement of all Xerox machines—it makes copies. I'm going to need about ten copies of each of those forms, and you really shout top off the paper tray after you're done. Thanks, Coran, I owe you one."

"Lance! Did you charge nearly eight-seven _thousand_ galactic divots on this machine?" Coran roared.

"…'Course I didn't…"

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: …Of course he did. No idea why Lance is getting so much face time in the last chapters. I guess it's because he's the only one who struck me as having this particular type of ambition. Ah, the movie premier draws near…

In Christ,

ZN


	25. Yeah

Yeah

* * *

"I can't believe all that," Pidge sighed, flopping down on the blonde leather seats of the stretch space-limmo.

"And people argued against it," Lance commented, taking an opposite seat and propping his shiny dress shoes up.

"I'm beat," Hunk groaned as he stepped over Lance's legs, already bent double against the ceiling. "I never knew so much went into a movie's premier."

"Yeah," Keith answered, sitting near the door. Allura came in last and sat across from him. They both awkwardly avoided looking at one another.

"You know, I thought the tuxes colored like our uniforms was kinda cheesy at first, but it ended up looking pretty cool," Pidge said, rolling over.

"Yeah," Allura agreed with an apathetic glance at her shimmering pink ball gown.

"We haven't even talked about the movie," Hunk said. "I'm dead tired, but still too excited to sleep…"

"Yeah," Keith said.

"The movie was great," Pidge sighed happily. "The lions were awesome!"

"That's why I got Lucasfilm to do it," Lance said with satisfaction. "And how about the script? Best way it could've been written, right?"

"…Yeah," Allura said hesitantly. She and Keith unconsciously edged further away from one another.

"I mean, there were a few rewrites after the edition that got approved, and some improv from the actors. It's all what the film industry wants," Lance said, masking a smile.

"Yeah," Keith agreed, his voice gaining some strength.

"And the after-party!" Hunk said with more energy than seemingly possible.

Lance laughed. "Almost better than the movie, and that's saying something."

Allura laughed. "Yeah."

"Hey, did anyone else think they saw Lotor at the party—you know, other than the fake one?" Pidge asked.

"Yeah," Keith growled.

"You know," the entirely too punch drunk Pidge giggled, "It was _really _weird seeing the princess kissing Lotor."

The shadows laughed silently.

"You know, in the movie," he finished.

"Yeah," Allura agreed lightly.

Hunk laughed a similarly drunken chuckle. "And kissing _Keith_." He laughed again. "Didn't expect _that_."

"…Yeah…" Keith said, his discomfort lost on the company in the limmo.

"So wasn't Fala great?" Lance said. "I was talking with her at the after-party. She can sing through three octaves, has three whole Shakespearian plays memorized and, can cry on demand."

"Yeah?" Allura asked.

"Yeah," Keith answered.

"Come on people—favorite parts," Lance commanded, too tired to snap his fingers. "Personally, I liked the scene where it was the first time Allura invoked the spirit in the tomb. Creepy, sad, touching, and definitely getting a few Oscars."

"I liked the part with our first mission freeing those Arusian slaves," Pidge said.

"Me too," Hunk answered. Neither Keith nor Allura volunteered anything.

"Come on Allura—the movie was pretty much about you. No favorite part?" Lance asked. She didn't answer. "Let me guess—a four-way tie with the spirit invoking scene, the one where you first took Blue Lion, the kidnap scene, the rescue scene, and the end."

"…Yeah," Allura answered.

"Yeah," Keith agreed, still looking out a window.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: Keith, I can only assume, was saying "yeah" to his epic fail at defending the princess during Lotor's kidnap scene, or perhaps the incredibly marketable Lotor-Allura Kiss. All I can say for certain is he is _not_ repressing feelings/afraid of commitment. Yep. So not his style.

* * *

Of course the Voltron movie would take a few liberties. They condensed/altered things! I will now list 13 of these alterations to make up for the fact that I gave you the moment _after_ the climax instead of the climax (again)!

**1) The boys got taken to a random slaving/gladiator planet, not Doom. **Why? The writers answer: Because who takes some random space explorers to the capitol planet? Tch. That is _slack_. And there's no reason to spend the money to make a Planet Doom set when we're not even going to use it for more than a few scenes.

**2) Arus was **_**really**_** ruined and in a bad way. **This doesn't register in the English version of the series, but it registers with the overzealous storyboard artists, effects people, and so on and so forth! The planet looked much worse than the "war zone" approved for American children back in the day to see.

**3) The first time Lotor saw Allura was when she first took out Blue Lion. **This means we have the new *coughobsessivestalkercough* love born at an inopportune, high-action moment! And since they couldn't stop the battle for Lotor to fall in love, they took the cheap fast and easy way out—glitter filter over the princess! That established Lotor was in love, immediately evidenced by an attempt on her life! His vendetta with Keith began when Keith foiled that attempt on Allura's life with some quick, cunning piloting of black lion. Cue LotorRoar(copyright) and in ten seconds you just established undying, obsessive, illogical, stalkerish love and a hatred with a passion to rival that of a burning sun! Storyboard artists had a time with that one.

**4) Allura's team membership distresses of replacing Sven, piloting the lion badly, and taking Black Lion out were all rolled into one scene!** What happened was Sven was injured, so she tried to pilot the lion. Epic fail at piloting, cue (first ever) attack from Lotor, cue other lions and ppl being _really_ mad. In heat of anger they let her know how they feel (partly because they care, partly because they're heartless adolescent boys with no understanding of an overly emotional teenaged princess with abandonment issues). So when that all occurred she took a horse out for a ride to clear her head (because for one thing there's no way an enemy would come right back after a skirmish, and for another she's a stupid, sad, angry teenage girl who doesn't think things through.) Lotor, Romeo that he is, blew out the road ahead of her with some cheap flashy explosives (Aw!). The horse got spooked, reared, and ran away. Allura (in a comical pink riding cloak) cowered in fear as Lotor walked out of the smoke. Then the official proposal Drule style (lazon sword out, standing tall with the prospective bride somehow injured, terrified, and on the ground). Then the obligatory "You _monster_!" that serves as the cue for billions of fangirls all across the galaxy to start shipping. Lotor, of course, brought a handy-dandy robeast along, which raised a number of alarms and Allura escapes as a couple lions bear down on the smoking crater Lotor just made (not a dead giveaway at all). She gets to Blue Lion and knows enough to function as a (by that time greatly needed) appendage of Voltron.

**5) No "Love Bridge." **Not in the original script, not in any of the rewrites or cuts. No one missed it except for Hunk.

**6) Romelle and anything else to do with Planet Pollux had no part whatsoever**. Her husband, who got an honorable mention bit-part which only served to create conflict, was not thrilled with this. She kept him from throwing his shoe at the screen (cuz he luvs her) by mentioning that the director had already asked to write the script for and shoot half the sequel on planet Pollux. Sven still wasn't happy that CGI space mice got a part and Romelle didn't.

**7) Allura occasionally stood up for herself.**

**8) The footage that the actual Voltron Force shot was used** to some extent. The parts captured by cameragirl Lisa which featured Fala Spielberg (such as the one where she kicks the Prince of Doom in the head) went on a bonus reel for the DCD (data crystal disc) release. Then some other unusable footage, such as Lance shouting at his stalker and the moo-cow robeast fight, was played through the credits. Fala's now-famous kick (which has no fewer than three thousand twenty two internet forums devoted to proving it was real/fake—a pretty even split between them) played right at the very end. Theater workers across the galaxy were delayed in cleaning the theaters. Also on the bonus tracks for the DCD are the music videos Fala made while performing for Lotor's harem. A few robot-drones had been filming her various performances and were persuaded with quite a lot of money to sell the footage. Fortunately they were stupid enough to sell the originals, having not made copies (the Drule Empire isn't very used to the concept of freedom of expression) and also sold the rights to the performance video. They then deserted and have not yet been found since the people hunting for them are equally stupid robot-drones.

**9) Lotor successfully kidnapped Allura. **Why? Because Lotor-Allura interaction is fantastically marketable. Also, it makes for a lot of suspense and action, which is a bonus when shooting an action movie! The kidnap scene was followed by some stuff with the Voltron force arguing, then preparing for a rescue, establishing how messed up Keith would be if Lotor had done anything to Allura (which got little reaction from Keith, who completely missed the fact that Allura was his love interest). Then back to Lotor, then item number ten, and then the rescue scene. In the rescue scene Keith and the Voltron force walk in and interrupt item number ten. There's a macho one-on-one fight between Keith and Lotor, and then on with the space battles.

**10) There was, in fact, a Lotor-Allura kiss.** Why? Because it was marketable. Also because an angsty forced kiss between a violent, worshipful stalker and the unwilling object of his affections was essential to the script. Why was it essential to the script? Because it was (you guessed it) _**marketable! **_Trivia: Fala Spielberg has not yet had a kiss which was not chaperoned by her director father and anywhere from three to twelve cameras.

**11) The fact that Keith and Allura **_**did**_** something about **_**actual**_** romantic tension** (because I never saw much of what I'd call romantic tension in the English version). In the end scene Keith was standing all alone and officer-y on a balcony watching the celebratory fireworks and Allura came over to talk to him. There was the basic Keith spiel about the war isn't over, duty, so on and so forth (minus the phrase Defender of the Universe). Then came the honest-to-goodness **romantic moment**. Keith, being in character, tried to be mature and fair and officer-y and turn away, but the sixteen year old girl (who technically outranked him and was a bit drunk on victory) wasn't having with that. Cue epic blockbuster kiss! This ignites a shipping war! (Veterans of the Avatar fandom understand the implications of this.) There will be riots, or at least cyber-riots. Allura and Keith both got abstract looks on their faces and carefully didn't speak, touch, or make eye contact the rest of the evening. Anyway, back onscreen the kiss continues its epic blockbusteryness which was denied to the Lotor-Allura fans because Allura happens to despise Lotor. Keith, being himself, of course worries about the implications of The Kiss. Allura basically said something along the lines of "Comes on and let's just celebrate victory" and whatever, and then the rest of the force comes rushing in and drench the two so-not-lovebirds with champagne. The final scene is so cheesy people feel obligated to love it.

**12) King Zarkon (and Haggar) got smaller parts than Lotor.** Why? Because Lotor is prettier, and therefore more marketable! Also since the movie focuses on Allura, they didn't need much of Zarkon and Haggar. The two parts were entirely CGI as it was; yay for future technology!

**13) Everything looked more real than real life! **Yeah, good times, gooooood tiiiimes…

* * *

So please, if you review, separate the reviews between the actual prompt (Yeah) and the bonus bit for the movie. Thanks so much—you know I love to hear from you.

In Christ,

ZN


	26. Zest

Zest

Warning: (More) Terry Pratchett influenced phonetically spelled accents ahead.

* * *

"They certainly seem to have more zest since the movie came out," Romelle commented as she chiseled a block of ice into smaller chunks.

"Zest? And yust vhat do you mean by 'zest'?" Sven asked distractedly as he monitored artillery array as the Castle of Lions spread cover fire for the Voltron force.

"Enthusiasm…spirit…vim…" Romelle continued, collecting ice into glasses and lifting the ice block back into the cooler.

Sven opened streaming video channels form points along the castle. Prince Lotor had come and attacked in force, bringing the ever more gratuitous space armada into the atmosphere right over the Castle of Lions. The lions had responded almost immediately, but that was hardly a factor in the battle.

"I need a drink," he sighed and Romelle handed him one of the glasses she had just poured. She leaned on the command chair as he took a sip. "Coke?" he asked, surprised. "I vas thinking of something a bit stronger."

"Tradition is that when there's a siege on the fortress we drink the good stuff," Romelle said, drinking her own cold glass of coca-cola. "I picked it up when we went for the premier. Twenty-first century Earth, glass bottles. Originally released in Europe. A collector had stored them in a climate controlled pressure chamber since then." Sven looked at his glass. By a number of technical measures, it was worth more than he was. "It was going to be your birthday present," Romelle said to clarify.

"Romelle—ve aren't going to _die_," Sven said, putting one arm around his wife's waist. It comforted him to hear her throaty chuckle as she shifted onto the arm of the Castle Control command chair.

"I know. But it's tradition and it saves me the effort of trying to keep this from you for three months." Sven smiled and looked back at the chaos in the sky above them. There wasn't much he could do—Coran was in charge of the Castle Guard, which he was running as efficiently as any war machine could be run. Nanny was marshalling the wounded and medical staff. He and Romelle had just stopped for a short visit on the way home after the premier of the Voltron movie.

"You vere talking about zest?" he said, still looking at the screen.

"Right. Well, just look. Here they have planetary gravity, air friction, possible civilians, and their home as limitations, and they're fighting the same battle they usually do in space. And they're either doing just as well or better. That's zest. Oooh…" she said as the team executed a maneuver she'd never seen before. It involved blue and red lions doing scissor passes laying heavy fire with green and yellow flanking with supporting fire, topped off with a black lion dive bomb.

"So—to zest?" Sven said, raising his glass.

Romelle tapped it with hers and they drank. "The Drule are retreating."

Sven stood and put his arms around his wife. "To victory," he whispered before he kissed her.

* * *

Word count minus notes: 500

A/N: To celebrate the end, the first actual kiss I've written for Voltron. Hurray for marriedfluff! Romelle and Sven.

So much thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, alerted, and faved. (According to the nifty statistics thingie, there were probably about four regular readers, and you know who you are. Kudos!)

In Christ,

ZN


End file.
